The Land of Dada

First of many lessons learnt about Kol: Do not bother with blow dries and hair styling. On a rainy day such as this, all it took was five seconds out in the humidity and poof went my silky straights into a state of dishevellment, frizz and horror.

We got our phones recharged at the same hovel we had purchased our number. Why we keep reappearing at thus hovel, my friends, is simply because it happens to be the closest source of all goodies Airtel to our present accomodations. Speaking of accomodations, in a room behind the library I spoke about earlier, is the billiards room. And all the cues largely headless. What I'm trying to say is, if you were to hit a ball with these metal tipped sticks, you would most likely damage the ball and have your opponent laugh at you. We shared a cue and played a casual game. Your author made a few points herself (even made a few flukes look like pro work).

Perhaps one of the most incredible things about Kolkata is that you can buy the most beautiful chocolate fudge cake - 500 gms, chocolate sauce, shavings and the works, for a mere hundred and fifty rupees. And this can be substantially disorienting for an ex-Delhiite. Delhi bazaars wont let you smell, nay, look at cake for anything less than 200. And the purchase was made at one of the upmarket bakeries, not at a corner store with fly infested shelves.

If ever a claim was made that cricket could sell, and I mean really sell, it would find adequate citation in this city. Advertising uses cricket as often as language itself. A leading newspaper compares a drop in the competition's circulation to a dropped catch. Indian Premiere League sponsors continue to find a crowd with an enduring IPL hangover. Mahendra Singh Dhoni grins at you from every fifth billboard. Theme restaurants (not just Saurav's) and pubs abound. Cricket is everywhere. It's reassuring, all this love for the sport. I am someone for whom the fleeting glimpse of Eden Gardens through bushy trees and branches was like pilgrimage.

How Bangla are you?

"Have you lived in Kolkata before?"
"No"
"Do you have family here? Relatives?"
"Nope"
"Are you Bengali?"
"No"
"Ever visited Kolkata before this?"
"Nay, madame."
"Do you know how to speak Bangla?"
Another answer in the negative, and thus concludes my first conversation with a kid here. Awe follows. I choose my adventures, and therefore am, adventurous and cautious all at once. Kolkata is one of those adventures. This is a culture, I was told, would be an altogether new experience for someone not even distantly Bengali. But being here is making me feel two things very strongly.

Indian and Human.

Human is what you are with everyone when somewhere you begin to belong without qualifying to. What I mean is, you're told you'll have nothing in common with them, and yet you feel right at home from the moment you take the first breath.

We purchased our new sim cards from an absolute hovel of a place (pardon the language). A square foot by two, possibly, and crammed with everything that you could attach to, put in, put on or add to, your mobile phone. No discomfort though. None.

In Kolkata, the people take pride in their language and legacy, without feeling the need to gloss it over. A "posh" Delhi bookstore would scarcely display visible and numerous volumes in Indian languages even within their recesses. But even mall bookstores here give Bangla literature pride of place among the British, American and diaspora confetti.

On several occasions, people will take for granted that you know the language. Apart from a few unmentionables (concerning lizards and people's behinds - i know, i'm horrible!) and the sentence "I know Bangla very well & I am a big devil", I know nothing of Bangla. But at times, its so fast, I have to wait for the torrent of words to get over before I can slip in my sheepish smile and say, "Sorry, I don't understand...". But it doesnt happen a lot. Kolkata is on its way to becoming wholly metropolitan, even if it falls a little behind now.

I caught a glimpse of the Victoria Memorial. It struck me like the Taj Mahal. White, tremendous and unreal - like a bygone era shimmering in the centre of a maidan. The Maidan is lush. We stopped at a red light and by the side of the road, grazing, were a fawn horse and a colt. In a more gracious age, one would have just gazed upon them and sighed and felt at peace. But we're not the 17th century anymore, we just have to take that fuzzy cell phone picture of all things beautiful.

The tennis court at the club here is magnificent. Wish I could say the same about the library.

All this Respect for Women is driving me nuts!

Let's not forget the seven years I've spent in Delhi, trying very hard to avoid being pushed, nudged or stared at for no reason in all public places, without exception. Kolkata is surreal that way. A Delhiite can actually get offended by the sheer lack of obscene attention she gets from guys here.

So South City Mall looks like a decent enough place to hang out, even though the teenagers here insist it isn't. We've found a hypermarket underneath the mall, deep within its basement. And it truly is hyper. Just a massive space where they're willing to sell you anything from plasma TVs to popcorn. Aquariums of live prawns and crabs line the walls of the meats section. You stare, and amost feel sorry for the blue clawed sweeties. But then the words "crispy fried" come to mind, and you're so willing to be cruel and eat up the creatures again. (My apologies, vegetarians).

Pollution is one of Kolkata's chief troubles. Diesel vehicles can't seem to keep the diesel fumes out. The way to University is headache route. *sigh*

What wouldn't a good painting, polishing and retouching job do to the city? Here it is, just sitting there, all that magical architecture crying out to be glossed and displayed in all of its magnificence. Kolkata has the potential to be world class and to draw world tourism to itself. If only I had an unlimited supply of paint, brushes and the permission...

The First Wind

Kolkata has the innate ability to confuse the casual onlooker, in the most tactful sort of way. It catches you off guard around every corner. The moment you begin to forget it, it sneaks up to you. For anyone Indian but not even distantly Bangla, the experience of a new Kolkata is both fresh and familiar and surprising in how deep and embedded culture can be.

So far it has been very warm and very full of chocolate confectionary. I can’t complain. The kookie Jar and the Flury’s are in season and all’s right with the world. The malls are just as they should be everywhere in the world – cold, commercial, colourful and uniform. The streets are throbbing with life. There are very beautiful buildings beneath layers of dust and streaks of rain. The ache and the Gurudeb Robindranath resound in my head as I take this tentative first step towards expressing most simply and honestly my encounter with a city nothing like any other in which I have lived.